We never went to London because apparently something is off with the car, and guess who has been questioned about that? “How fast did you go? Did you bump something?” Yes, when things go wrong with the car in the future, there will be accusatory eyes directed at me. I almost feel put upon and persecuted.

Yes, THIS is what I've been reading about. Behave now.
Yes, THIS is what I’ve been reading about. Behave now.

I don’t know what is wrong. Mark said something incredibly technical as he opened the bonnet and started digging into the deeps of the engine, and by now there’s at least three inches of oil and things on him.

Of course it also means that he has about three of his mates there, sitting in the car, playing music in the car stereo while they drink beer and talk about people who I don’t know, having done things that I can’t guess.

Me? I’m reading about murderous great tits on the internet. Oh, behave. I’m am doing a very respectable bit of scientific research on birds. Apparently the Great Tit is a ravenous little beast, and an idea, a fusion of Hitchcock’s “The birds” and South English suburbia struck me. So, instead of writing the other story that I’m supposed to write, I’m reading about tits on the internet. It beats sitting down there having Mark’s wounded eyes on me for possibly having wounded his steel baby.

Okay, okay, I’ll stop now. But admit it, you never thought you’d read a title like that on my blog, did you?

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